


Thanksgiving

by April_Valentine



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alexandria Safe Zone, Angst, Bottom!Rick, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, Rickyl Writers Group, Thanksgivng fic, not awkward Daryl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-03 21:57:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5308337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/April_Valentine/pseuds/April_Valentine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the road, there was no Thanksgiving. Finally, safe in Alexandria, they can celebrate the holiday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thanksgiving

**Author's Note:**

> Someone on Tumblr requested a Rickyl Thanksgiving fic since we've seen so little of Daryl and Rick together lately. I'm a couple days late but hopefully not a dollar short.

“I’m thankful…” Rick had to pause, try to catch his breath. His emotions were all over the place.

Daryl leaned closer, the raspy voice making Rick’s earlobe tingle. “What? What are you thankful for?”

_An hour earlier_

They hadn’t celebrated Thanksgiving since before the world went to hell. Rick tried to think back… it must be two years. All that time on the road, they’d barely known what day of the week it was, much less when any given holiday was supposed to be celebrated.

Birthdays, Christmas… they didn’t seem to matter any more. As for Thanksgiving, aside from being alive, they really didn’t have a lot to be thankful for.

Last year… he remembered that it had been cold. The group of them had been huddled around a tiny campfire, trying to make three squirrels feed fourteen people. Suddenly, Tara had spoken up.

“Is today Thursday?” 

They’d looked at each other, shrugging. “I think it’s Friday,” Gabriel had finally responded.

Tara’s face had fallen. “Oh. That’s too bad.”

“Why, honey?” Carol had asked.

“Because… well, think… I think yesterday was Thanksgiving. Isn’t this the third week of November?”

“I haven’t been keepin’ track,” Abraham had said, scowling. 

“Me either,” Maggie sighed.

“Is there a particular point you wish to make?” Eugene asked, stretching his bare legs toward the fire. Despite the chilly fall temperature, he was still clad in knee length pants.

Tara sighed and looked at him, then around the rest of the circle. “Thanksgiving?” she asked, spreading her hands wide. “We’re all still here. We should be thankful.”

Judith started fussing in Rick’s arms. Daryl reached to take her, shushing her. He let her suck on his greasy pointer finger and she smiled happily, gurgling around the digit in her mouth.

Rick met his eyes. Daryl rolled his. Thanksgiving wasn’t something Daryl had probably ever really celebrated.

“Right?” Tara continued. “Things could be worse. A lot worse. So, we should be thankful.”

Nobody said anything. Rick could feel the way the air got chillier between his people. The reminder of what they used to have was bad enough, but Tara trying to be cheerful was more than they could deal with.

At last Rosita snorted. “Tara, we just enjoyed a delicious appetizer of little itty bitty bites of _squirrel_ \-- do you think a turkey is somewhere back in the woods waiting? Or maybe a nice, yummy pumpkin pie?”

Tara’s face fell and Rick felt sorry for her. She always tried so hard to make the best of things, no matter how glum they were. 

“Tara’s right,” he said, knowing that as the leader, it was his place to make sure the mood didn’t get more somber than it already was. “We’re alive. We have something to eat. It’s a good day.”

He looked around the circle, meeting each and every person’s eyes meaningfully. One by one, they nodded in agreement. He could almost feel the tension dissipate.

Nobody gave thanks out loud. Nobody held hands or said grace. Even Father Gabriel had the decency not to bring up God or how the pilgrims made it through that first hard winter in the new world. But they seemed to relax and in a few moments, it was as if the reminder of what they had lost had been pushed aside. The group wasn’t exactly jovial but at least they weren’t frowning and about to punch each other.

Daryl snickered and Rick turned to see what Judith had done to make him laugh. She had grabbed the sparse beard at Daryl’s chin and was yanking it hard, her eyes full of mischief as if she knew exactly how annoying she was being and that her Daryl wouldn’t mind at all.

Rick shifted closer to him, smiling down at his daughter, and leaned his head on Daryl’s shoulder just for a minute.

But this year – this year was different. They were in Alexandria and the Alexandrians liked any excuse to have a party and celebrate. So, since the wall had been shored up, the walkers that had gotten inside killed, those who had been wounded were starting to feel better, and most importantly, everyone who had been outside had returned in one piece, there was a town wide Thanksgiving banquet being held.

Huge tables were set up in the middle of the street across from Deanna’s house. People had been cooking for days. In the storeroom, there were a couple of smoked geese that been contributed and Daryl had shot five turkeys and a deer. Carol had made a special batch of cookies and some pies. There were mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, sausage stuffing, green bean casserole, corn pudding, cranberry sauce and many other side dishes made the tables groan and Rick had found barely enough room on his plate for all of it. Daryl, looking a little shell shocked at the abundance, nevertheless dug in and had managed to demolish two turkey legs and the pile of all the other sides he had heaped onto his plate. 

There was laughter and wine and the atmosphere was festive. The tables had been decorated with fall leaves and candles. Laughter was heard more than awkward silences, and even when they fell, as one person or another remembered a missing loved one that would never come home, considering that they really did have a lot to be thankful for, the moment would pass, bittersweet smiles would replace the sad expressions and laughter would resume.

Maggie and Glenn looked particularly happy and, as Maggie declined a glass of wine, everybody else toasted their good news. Father Gabriel had led the thanksgiving grace while everyone had paused in passing the dishes around. Abraham was sipping a glass of aged whiskey, Rosita leaning close to him. Sasha was smiling more than Rick had seen since the losses of Tyreese and Bob. Tara looked really happy as her gaze moved from one to the other of their group, Denise sitting by her side. Carol was laughing, dressed in her more familiar clothing now that she had abandoned the “timid housewife” role. Morgan was telling a story about his cheese maker friend and offering to try to make some for everyone as soon as they acquired a goat or cow or any other milk-bearing animal. Deanna sat close to Spencer, happy that at least that member of her family was still alive. Michonne offered to carve a turkey with her katana, but Tobin had produced a nice shiny carving knife and did the job instead.

The other Alexandrians sat at other tables, while Rick’s family was gathered close at the large picnic table in the center. He wouldn’t have wanted anyone to be left out and most of all, his wish had been for them to be all around him at the same table. Carl sat to his left, and Daryl to his right, Judith’s little high chair slightly behind and between his and Rick’s seats. On Carl’s left sat Enid. He’d asked Rick if she could join their table even though she wasn’t part of the original group and of course, Rick had agreed. 

Carl and Ron had made peace over Enid. Nearby was the table where he sat with his mom and Sam. Jessie occasionally looked over at Rick and his group rather wistfully. Rick had explained that he could really only be friends and they both understood that the circumstances of Pete’s death made too much between them. If things were different – if he was another man – maybe… But no. He wasn’t the man who had awoken from that coma, looking for his wife and child, missing that kind of relationship, any more. He had changed. He no longer was the naïve deputy who wouldn’t kill the living. He now knew that sometimes, if you wanted to save your family, you had to kill others. If you wanted to keep the good people in the world close to you, you had to sacrifice that part of yourself. He still carried the responsibility of the many deaths that were on his head, but he accepted them. They were as much a part of him as the peace he fought so hard to maintain. And he had Daryl to help him fight his demons. With Daryl by his side, he didn’t seem to fall into the aggression and short sightedness he suffered from when his partner wasn’t there.

He sat down his fork and picked up his wine glass, touching it to Daryl’s with a soft clink. Daryl looked over at him, eyes bashful beneath his long bangs, but full of love.

Rick picked up his knife and tapped on his glass. The tinkling brought conversations to a stop and he stood up. 

“I’d like to thank everyone who helped provide and prepare this meal for us today,” he began. Murmurs of agreement rippled around him and Rick began mentioning everyone who had contributed. Carol squeezed Daryl’s arm as Rick thanked him for the turkeys and the deer he’d shot. Olivia blushed at the applause for the supplies she’d managed to pull together for everyone. Gardeners looked pleased when Rick acknowledged the vegetables they’d grown. Carol stood and took a bow along with the other cooks.

“This is the first Thanksgiving that our group has celebrated since everything happened,” Rick went on. “Despite the losses that every person here has suffered, we have much to be grateful for. We are healthy, we have good solid roofs over our heads, and we have a bounty of food on our plates. We have friends beside us, family to sustain us. We have love and we have peace.” He lifted his glass. “To an Alexandrian Thanksgiving! May there be many more!”

Rick resumed his seat, hoping that his speech had gone over as well with the original residents as it had with his own people. He saw Aaron and Eric lifting their glasses as they smiled in his direction but he was aware that he still wasn’t exactly the most popular resident in town.

He could hear a few murmurs about how he had mishandled the herd from the quarry. About how since his arrival, people had died. He was sure a few still thought Pete should be around because he was the town doctor, despite his having abused Jessie and Ron and killed Reg. Some of the people here still didn’t get it – that you had to find your inner strength to survive now. Even inside these walls, death could find you. And if you ventured out, you had to step up or you’d be taken by the walkers. 

Sure, when Carter had been bitten, Rick had ended his screaming with his knife. He’d stood over his still warm body and taken the man’s gun – Carter wouldn’t need it any more and others did. But Rick had seen the accusatory looks that had followed.

When the walls had been breached, there had been those who accused him of weakening them. Some people had thought the Wolves had been able to get in and do the damage they’d done because Rick had taken so many people with him to the quarry that day. And word had gotten around that when things had gotten dicey out there with the herd, he’d told Glenn and Michonne that he knew some of the Alexandrians wouldn’t make it back.

They thought he was cold. But he was just telling the truth. 

That he was some kind of control freak who wanted the town to be the way he wanted it to be. But he knew that it couldn’t survive without becoming stronger.

They thought he wanted to take over and get all the glory of being the leader, not liking the contrast between Rick’s strident voice and violent responses and Deanna’s soft words and even tempered demeanor. But Rick never asked to be the leader. Not back at the Atlanta camp, or at Hershel’s farm or even the prison. He had even tried to step away for a time. But when nobody else was capable of leading, he had been forced to do it. And if keeping his people alive and together didn’t prove he had some leadership qualities, what did?

He wasn’t trying to win any popularity contest. If somebody else could lead these people, they should come forward. But he knew nobody would, so he had to do the things a leader did, even if they didn’t make him popular or well liked. He knew he tended to notice those who weren’t on his side more than he counted the people who did see that he was trying to do what was right, but he couldn’t stop himself.

For Rick, the past couple of years had been a series of unrelenting stressful situations, punctuated by a few days of relief that he couldn’t enjoy due to his remorse over the decisions he had made, the lives that he couldn’t save. Out on the road, there had been no rest, no safety, only starvation and fear and the constant need to be on guard. Even when they got away safely, they had to do things that sane people couldn’t even conceive. Nightmares and trauma were the leftovers, worse than not having food to eat or water to drink. Rick’s humanity had been chipped away, little by little. He had started as a man who tried to treat everyone fairly, but had learned the hard lesson that his own fairness and humanity was a liability now.

They were safe now and he had toasted to many more years to give thanks for in the future. But Rick knew safety and security were fleeting in this world. They could be safe tonight and die tomorrow. They could be bit, kidnapped, murdered, tortured, end up on the road again where starvation, thirst and sheer exhaustion were as deadly as their enemies and the walkers that lurked behind every tree. He still hoped that this place would be the one they could call home for more than just a few short months, but even as he pushed aside his empty plate and wiped his mouth on a real cloth napkin, he began to worry. So much could go wrong. So much had gone wrong just a short time ago. Who knew what the morning would bring, how they would be tested, what cruel people might come across this safe harbor and destroy it. 

Now he couldn’t even look at his own happy group, his concern growing even while they laughed and smiled together. Anxiety began to weigh on him, knowing their luck would only last so long. Someone would come and break down the walls that kept them safe and the people of Alexandria would desperately look to him to save them, and hate him with their eyes when he failed. 

He remembered an incident from when he was a rookie. A woman’s daughter had been kidnapped. She cried through the whole interview, begging Rick to bring her child home safely, trusting him to do his job. And he had tried, done his best, worked non-stop for three days, went without sleep, without food. But the little girl had been found dead. Killed soon after the perp had taken her. At least he captured the man, made sure there was enough evidence to convict him. But he would never forget the woman’s eyes when had to give her the news that they had been too late to save her daughter. Aloud, she had thanked him, acknowledged that he had done all he could. But her eyes had said she hated him for his failure. He was only human, but to that woman – and to so many others now – that wasn’t good enough.

He glanced toward Carol, remembering the fruitless search for Sophia. If he hadn’t left her to draw the walkers away… _Damn._

“Hey.” Daryl’s voice in his ear, Daryl’s strong hand on his shoulder, fingers just brushing the skin of his neck. 

He glanced over at the man who meant so much to him, managing a faint smile.

As if reading his mind, Daryl stroked fingers through Rick’s unruly curls. “You’re thinkin’ too much.”

Rick pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can’t help it. Part of the job.”

“You’re off duty now.” Daryl nudged Rick’s shoulder with his hand. “Ready to get outta here?”

“You think I should?” Dessert hadn’t even been served yet. Rick felt it was his duty to remain until the dinner was completely over, but he was tired. Stress and tension had sapped his stamina.

“They’re all full and happy,” Daryl whispered back. “They’ll never notice.” He took Judith from her high chair and passed her to Carol who smiled conspiratorially at him.

“I’ll mind the fort, guys,” she said. “If anything comes up, I’m sure Morgan and Michonne can keep the natives under control.”

“If not, feed ‘em some of your special cookies,” Daryl retorted.

Carol chuckled. “Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet. I made _pie_. They won’t know what hit them.”

“Thanks, Carol,” Rick said, meaning more than just for her watching Judith. 

They turned as one. Daryl put a hand on Rick’s bicep, leading him away.

_Present._

The further they’d walked from the picnic area, the tighter Daryl’s grip on his arm had become. Rick had let the other man lead as they made their way back home. It was easier to let Daryl urge him along than to think about where to plant his steps. Instead of looking where they were going, Rick had just let Daryl steer him to their destination.

They’d climbed up the porch steps. Daryl had opened the door and looked at him.

Rick’s body had been thrumming with tension, the pressure of having to be so much for so many people.

“Go up and take your clothes off,” he’d said, his voice low but forceful. “Get yourself ready for me.”

A thrill of arousal and need had swept over Rick’s body. He didn’t speak. Just nodded and moved to comply. Daryl was going to take care of him. Daryl had seen how Rick was getting at the banquet, how his words had been of thanks and friendship but his head had started to fill with death and destruction.

His hands had shook as he stripped off his clothes, as he laid back on their bed, spread his legs and found the lube under the pillow. He’d taken a deep breath and slid his slicked fingers deep into himself, anticipating them being replaced with Daryl’s cock. 

Rick needed that now, needed to let go and let Daryl steer him in whatever direction he thought would help him get his head together. Needed the way being filled by Daryl made him feel consumed but complete, taken apart but put back together, used but useful, taken but loved.

Soon, Daryl was there with him, as if he knew Rick couldn’t handle waiting too long. As Rick watched, Daryl stayed in the doorway to take off his clothes. After kicking off his boots, Daryl’s black work pants fell to the floor, revealing his already rock hard cock. As Rick feasted his eyes, Daryl gave himself a long slow stroke while looking back at Rick. Then he slipped the buttons of his shirt and slid out of it along with his vest, letting those garments fall next to his pants. 

Then he moved toward Rick, his stride purposeful and sex-driven, already owning Rick with his eyes.

He put his hands first on Rick’s bent knees, climbing onto the bed, parting Rick’s legs to look down, to check. 

“You do it good?” he asked, tone indicating that Rick better had.

Rick, barely able to speak, nodded breathlessly. Just having Daryl look at his waiting hole was enough to raise his blood pressure. 

Daryl met his eyes. “You look so good, like this,” he whispered, his voice gruff but strong, without hesitation or shyness. “All laid out for me, to do with what I want.”

“Yes…” Rick breathed. _Yes, Daryl. Do whatever you want with me._

Daryl’s hands slid down from Rick’s knees, gripping his inner thighs in a caress that was proprietary and compelling. He opened Rick’s legs wide, making him feel exposed, vulnerable. Daryl’s fingers dug into his hips, thumbs pressing into the area behind his cock. Rick jerked at the sensation, nervous, waiting.

Daryl leaned closer, looking at Rick’s erection but still not touching. He circled the base, blew on the head, cool air that tingled and aroused but didn’t touch. Instead, Daryl massaged his lower belly, fingers digging into the v-shape of Rick’s pelvis.

His cock was hard, leaking, straining toward Daryl as if begging for his attention. Daryl bit his lip as if not touching it was a difficult thing, but his voice didn’t sound that way.

“Listened to that speech of yours,” he said, still massaging Rick’s hips. “You think that’s what those people wanted to hear?”

Rick closed his eyes. Daryl was right. Maybe he should have said something else, acknowledged the good job the Alexandrians had been doing all that time before his people came. Remembered the names of the dead. Something….

“I was mainly talking to our family,” he said, trying to keep his voice even as Daryl blew on his cock again. “Thinkin’ about last year, when Tara reminded us we’d just missed Thanksgiving and how awful we were all feeling.”

“So you think it’s better now?”

“Don’t you?”

Daryl’s fingers had been about to close over his erection, but at Rick’s words, he stilled his hands. Glanced up to meet his eyes again. 

“Look,” Daryl said, moving to settle down beside him on the bed. “I know how your head works. Somehow, in the midst of a big old happy Thanksgiving dinner, you started thinking about the bad stuff, didn’t you?”

Rick looked away. 

Daryl went back to what he’d asked before. “Yeah, that was rough last year. I never had no Thanksgiving, but even I knew it was shit. So why is your head all fucked up tonight? When we do have food and stuff to be thankful for?” He put his hand on Rick’s chin, tugging to get him to meet Daryl’s eyes. “Is it better now or not?”

Rick finally answered. “Yeah. Sure. Things are a lot better.” Rick reached out, tried to grab for Daryl’s hand to put it on himself, but Daryl pulled it out of his grasp. 

“Why is it better?” There was a challenge in his voice. His eyes said he wasn’t letting Rick off the hook.

“We’re here. Behind these walls.” Rick couldn’t put much conviction in the words though.

“You like these walls?” Daryl questioned.

“I have to,” Rick grated out. He didn’t feel like talking. He wanted to get fucked. Daryl could take his mind off everything like nothing else. Why was he waiting?

“You have to?” Daryl looked at him steadily. His words sounded harsh, but his eyes were so knowing, looking so deep into Rick’s soul.

“We need them,” Rick responded. “I… I know you don’t like ‘em.” Daryl hated the walls, did his best to get beyond them any time he had the chance. Rick wanted to make him stay close by but that was wrong. He didn’t have the right.

“’S not what I like or don’t like.”

“I know. But I want – you should… “ It was so much easier to make this about Daryl.

“What do _you_ want, Rick?” Daryl didn’t want easy. He wanted the truth.

“I want everybody to be safe. Walls can keep us safe.” He admitted. He took a deep breath. “Don’t have to like them to need them.

“So, what happened after?” Daryl asked.

Rick reached for him again. “Please…” Didn’t Daryl know that just being beside him like this was enough to drive Rick right to the brink?

“After your speech.” Daryl put his hands on him then, but just lightly, resting on his chest. “You were fine, smilin’ and then… what?”

“Nothin’” Rick looked down, hoping Daryl’s fingers would brush his sensitive nipples.

Daryl’s hands fell away. “Wasn’t ‘nothin’”

Rick didn’t know how to explain. But he knew he had to. “Just got to thinkin’. I’m not the leader they want here.”

Daryl brushed stray curls back off Rick’s forehead, his eyes intent on Rick’s tense face.

“I make mistakes. They don’t know me. Don’t know what’s in my mind.”

“Why is that?”

“I…” Rick faltered. He didn’t want to say. Couldn’t, really.

Daryl shifted, his hands moving downward, close but not touching. “You want me any time tonight?” His voice was temptation itself.

“Yes,” Rick gasped.

“Why don’t they know you?” he repeated, hand still hovering so close, Rick could feel its warmth on his cock.

“Guess I don’t tell ‘em.”

“Should you?”

“I guess,” he said. People talked about transparency here, about voting and community agreement.

“So a leader should tell everybody all his plans and all his reasons?” 

Rick hesitated. The way Daryl said, it didn’t seem right.

“Wouldn’t that make the leader get even more criticism?”

“But…”

“You want to get criticized?”

“No.” Rick tried to shake the hair off his forehead. He could feel the tension tightening between his shoulders, making his neck ache.

“You want everybody to like you?”

There had been a time, so long ago… Rick had wanted to be liked, wanted to be the kind of leader – the kind of cop, friend and yes, husband -- that others appreciated, respected and yes, was liked by the people he was responsible for. But just as a parent couldn’t always be the best friend of the child, a leader couldn’t only do the things that would make his people like him, be weak to get their love.

“No,” he admitted. “It’s not like that.”

Daryl rubbed his hand up Rick’s sweaty flank to his waist. Rick didn’t know if he was trying to torment him or comfort him. “What’s it like then?” Daryl asked.

“I have to do what needs to be done,” Rick growled out.

“And?”

“And I can’t do people favors when there are lives at stake.”

“So what upset you?” Daryl’s hand moved higher, fingers digging in, roughly possessive as it slid up his chest and gripped Rick’s bicep.

Rick looked up at him, expecting to see eyes that were annoyed, tired of his hesitation. But he was met with only love in the blue eyes that regarded him. Daryl could talk hard and touch harder, to give Rick what he needed. He could take control to help Rick release it. Yet he couldn’t hide the way he cherished Rick.

He took a deep breath. “I’m going to fail them.” He barely managed to meet Daryl’s eyes at the admission. “People are going to die. And I won’t be able to stop it.”

“Do you have to stop it?” Daryl’s question was soft, inexorable.

Rick bit his lip. “I… yes.”

“Really?” Daryl asked. He looked down the length of Rick’s body, at his full cock, his parted legs, then back up to meet Rick’s eyes.

“You have to stop it?” he asked again.

Rick’s whole body trembled. There was so much pressure on him, pressure to keep people alive, to keep them fed and safe. But it was too much. He couldn’t stop, he couldn’t rest, he couldn’t take time enough to think, he just had to keep doing whatever it took to get the job done. And it was never ending.

“I want to,” he gasped out, “but I can’t.” This was what he knew, the failure that was inevitable. The things he could never tell anyone else. They wanted him to be infallible but he couldn’t manage it. He was shaking in Daryl’s arms, falling apart. 

“Why?” The word was like a tiny sharp blow to a thin piece of ice. One touch, and it shattered. 

Just like Rick. “Because… because I don’t want any more deaths on my conscience…” Tears leaked from Rick’s eyes.

“Give them to me, then.”

With those words, Daryl knelt up, both hands stroking down Rick’s quivering body. He pressed Rick’s knees farther apart, and bent his body so that his pelvis was tilted up. One finger circled Rick’s already slicked entrance.

“Where’s the lube?”

Confused at the change in subject, it took Rick a moment to respond. He’d slid the tube back under his pillow. Fumbling for it, he offered it to Daryl.

Daryl scoffed. “You put it on me,” he ordered, leaning back on his haunches, knees wide, cock waving toward Rick.

Rick flipped the tube open, pushing up on his elbows to reach for Daryl. He drizzled the slick stuff over his fingers and eagerly took hold of the other man. Daryl was so hard as Rick anointed him, thinking how powerful the man was, how his strength lived in coiled muscles and sharp eyes, how his deadly aim and unswerving bravery gave him more potency than Rick could ever hope to have. And how all that intensity was directed at Rick at this moment. 

At the touch of Rick’s fingers, Daryl flung his head back, hair sweeping over his shoulders, throat bare, shoulders broad, looking like an artist’s conception of a god, somehow secretly sculpted deep in the forest of southern Georgia and left there, hidden, unseen and unappreciated. Until Rick had cut away the trees and vines covering him, revealing this force of nature, this crossbow wielding hurricane, this study in contradictions, to his eyes alone.

Then Daryl looked back at him, eyes cunning and so, so knowing. 

“Spread your legs wider,” Daryl told him.

His fingers, still slick and moist from the lube, could barely keep the grip on his knees, but he pulled and his legs parted, opening himself to Daryl, for Daryl, because Daryl told him to. 

Daryl gazed down at him, eyes hungry, demanding. “Get a pillow.”

Rick reached up and pulled the one out from under his head, pushing it toward Daryl.

Daryl took it, shoved it up under Rick’s hips, raising the angle. “Open yourself up,” he grated, the command making his voice thick and hoarse.

Fingers trembling, Rick slid his hands down to his ass, separating his cheeks, baring himself as if baring his soul. 

Daryl positioned his cock, lining himself up where Rick’s fingers held himself apart, open and willing to be taken, needing so badly to be overwhelmed by him.

He slid just the head into Rick’s body. Rick could feel its girth, the way it breached the ring of muscle that didn’t want to let it in, the way the rest of his insides trembled in anticipation for it anyway.

“Rick?” Daryl’s voice compelled him to meet his eyes.

He looked up at him, mouth open but no words coming out. 

“Give ‘em to me. The pressure. The deaths on your conscience. Everything.”

Daryl slid in, the penetration burning Rick’s insides, burning away his tension.

Rick wanted to. But he couldn’t give it to Daryl though. It was his burden, his cross to bear.

As if reading his mind, Daryl pulled out, again leaving the head of his cock in Rick, wringing a cry from him.

“Rick,” he said again, a command that Rick couldn’t ignore The words were clipped out, as if Daryl was barely maintaining control over himself, his passion suppressed only by the greatest of strength.

Rick wanted to scream. His arms reached out for Daryl, wordlessly pleading.

“Yes!”

Daryl started thrusting then, giving everything to Rick, taking everything from him. He leaned closer, Rick’s hands finally landing on his shoulders, hips pounding, chest heaving, eyes intent on Rick’s, seeing it all. The tears, the stress, the fear of failure, the endless work that allowed no rest, no reprieve.

But Daryl could take it, could take it all from him, ease him through it and take more. Rick was moaning, half in arousal, half in grief. Daryl shifted, changing the angle and pounded his prostate. Rick yelled, the skyrocketing pleasure blanking his mind, relieving the pressure, making his whole body spasm.

He was surrendering, giving up everything to Daryl, the one man who knew him well enough to take control when Rick needed to let go but never wanted to. Who would give him pleasure in return, take his pain and return mercy for it.

His cock was leaking, straining, needing no other stimulation, the stroking of his insides, the repeated pressure on his prostate enough to lift him higher and higher towards orgasm. His nipples felt electrified, his breath catching his chest, ass burning, balls tensing.

Daryl was taking it all away, compelling his response, making Rick new and clean again. That was why it felt so good when Rick gave up control to him. He knew he was loved by Daryl, knew that Daryl would never take everything away from him, strip him bare and then leave him hollow and broken. Daryl could have him any way he wanted, but he would never break Rick. Daryl was what put Rick back together.

“You thankful?” Daryl’s voice seemed to come from miles away, yet it was as strong as his body. Daryl could be bashful in bed, he could be flirty, he could lose control and then act embarrassed. But when Rick needed him like this, he was at his most amazing. Fierce concentration, dedication to his task, all his focus on Rick, his own pleasure less important than the man he was healing.

“Yes,” Rick gasped. 

“For what?” Daryl thrust in, held still as the earth rotated beneath them.

“I’m thankful…” Rick had to pause, try to catch his breath. His emotions were all over the place.

Daryl leaned closer, the raspy voice making Rick’s earlobe tingle. “What? What are you thankful for?”

“For you.” The words tumbled free, Rick coming apart beneath him, shattered by Daryl’s body, by his single-minded persistence. “For you, Daryl.”

“Come for me.”

At the first syllable, Rick blasted apart, ruptured open, came harder than he had in months, his body freed of the burden he carried, his mind stripped down to bliss and peace. And Daryl’s love. As Rick’s body let go, so did Daryl’s, filling Rick up, spilling over, making them one.

For a long time, he couldn’t seem to see or think. His body was blown apart, floating. Gradually, he started drifting back together, regaining his senses. At some point, Daryl slipped free of his body, but he stayed close, wouldn’t abandon Rick. He opened his eyes.

Daryl’s head was bent over him, long hair tickling Rick’s sensitive belly, obscuring his face. He was moving slowly, sensuously and Rick was aware of being very much adored. He kept feeling something, his skin so skittish in the aftermath that he couldn’t define what was happening.

It seemed to take forever for Rick to regain enough physical control to lift his hand, but he finally got it to Daryl’s head, sweeping the long strands aside so he could see him.

Daryl’s eyes were closed, his face a study in satisfaction, his tongue slowly lapping the come from Rick’s skin.

Only Daryl could be so utterly commanding and in complete control one minute, so tender and delicate the next.

“Hey,” Rick managed to say, his voice nearly gone.

Daryl looked up through his messy bangs, his tongue swiping Rick’s come from his lips. “We never got dessert,” he answered, returning then to finish licking all the remnants of their love from Rick’s body. 

Rick let his fingers sink into the heavy strands of Daryl’s hair, his body too weak to move any more than that. He felt so good, so unburdened, so grateful.

“Yeah,” whispered, “Happy Thanksgiving.”

**Author's Note:**

> I want to thank the lovely MermaidSheenaz for her Daryl inspirations and for beta-ing this and MaroonCamero for her additional suggestions! You guys are the best.
> 
> Join the Rickyl Writers Group and get inspired like I've been!  
> [](http://rickylwritersgroup.tumblr.com)


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